Fashion Felony
by fbeauchamphartz
Summary: Kurt has put together the perfect outfit for going out to dinner, but Sebastian might have other thoughts about it. Kurt H., Sebastian S.


**A/N: **_Written for the Kurtbastian Hiatus Project prompt 'free day', and inspired by two under-appreciated articles of Kurt's wardrobe._

"Kuuuuuurt!" Sebastian whines, looking at his watch for the nineteenth time. "Are you ready or what?"

"You can't…rush…perfection," Kurt replies pointedly from behind his privacy curtain, not wasting the time to peek out and scold his boyfriend face-to-face.

"I'm not rushing perfection," Sebastian mutters loud enough for his frustrating boyfriend to hear, "I'm rushing _you_."

Kurt scoffs accompanied by a sharp stomp of his foot on the wooden floor, and this time he _does_ peek his head out, holding the curtain tight beneath his chin so as not to blow the reveal on his newest designer ensemble.

"And _that_ comment is the reason why _you're_ sleeping on the couch tonight, mister," Kurt says, disappearing behind a flurry of sheer white voile fabric.

"I'd like to see you make me," Sebastian grumbles defiantly, staying well-aware of the volume of his voice so that Kurt doesn't hear. He waits for the fall-out from his snarky remark, but when Kurt doesn't make another comment, Sebastian knows he's temporarily in the clear.

There are several more long minutes of shuffling footsteps and a few pained groans behind the curtain before Kurt clears his throat to address Sebastian again.

"Alright," he announces dramatically. "I'm ready."

Sebastian rolls his eyes, but turns in his seat on the sofa to watch his boyfriend make his grand appearance. Seeing as they're already eating into their thirty minute buffer window (reserved for missed subway connections and unexpected traffic) whatever Kurt's wearing had better be worth it.

Kurt throws the curtain open wide and struts out, his body draped in head to toe couture, dressed for dinner in a carefully selected outfit that took Kurt days to put together. Kurt strikes a pose with his nose pointed toward the ceiling, come hither eyes aimed Sebastian's way.

"Well," Kurt says, raising his arms in the air and turning in a full circle, "what do you think?"

Sebastian's jaw drops an inch and his eyes nearly bug out from his head. He bites his tongue as he looks Kurt up and down, knowing what this outfit means to him, but Sebastian can't help himself.

He bursts out laughing.

The smug look on Kurt's face slips to shock and then changes immediately to fury as he watches his boyfriend break down on the couch.

"What the hell is your problem, Smythe?" Kurt asks. From the tone of Kurt's voice, Sebastian knows he's in trouble. He might end up paying for this display for the next few weeks, but it doesn't seem to matter in the presence of Kurt's newest coat.

It's black, hangs straight to the floor, and covered in the stringiest synthetic faux puppet fur Sebastian has ever seen. He vaguely remembers Kurt showing him a picture of it in a recent article of _Vogue Italia_ as something new off the runways of Milan. He also remembers thinking _thank God it's $7,000_. That way Kurt wouldn't even consider buying that horrid thing.

There was only one way in the world that Kurt Hummel could have ever afforded it.

_Fuck you, Rue La La!_

Kurt taps the toe of his leather boot on the floor.

"I'm waiting," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't have a problem," Sebastian says, wiping the tears from his eyes and looking back at Kurt's ensemble. "I'm just curious…"

"Really? And what, pray tell, were you curious about?" Kurt asks sarcastically. It's too much to hope that Sebastian would have any serious question about fashion, so Kurt waits for his big punchline.

In Sebastian's mind, he's screaming at himself to keep him mouth shut.

_Don't say it, Sebastian. Don't say it. You'll be sleeping on the fire escape in the dead of winter if you do._

But Sebastian Smythe was never very good at taking sound advice – even his own.

"I'm just curious…" Sebastian stops, pausing a moment to give himself the chance to make the smart decision about the next words out of his mouth, "how many Muppets did you skin to make your coat?"

Kurt's already unimpressed face goes beet red in the space of a breath.

Yup. Sebastian's dead.

"Fine!" Kurt roars, throwing off his coat and tossing it Sebastian's way, hitting Sebastian square in the face with it.

"Babe," Sebastian calls from behind the thick mass of crimped black fur. He tugs the coat off his face in time to see Kurt spin on his heel and head back for his bedroom. "Babe, I'm sorry. Let's…"

Sebastian's apology comes to a screeching halt when he catches sight of the pants Kurt is wearing – tight and black like most of his pants, but these have a generous slit down both outer side seams from waist to hem, held together by what must be literally hundreds of bright silver safety pins, with Kurt's creamy pale skin more than peeking out from between. In fact, so much of Kurt's skin shows from that slit that it's almost indecent. Sebastian licks his lips at the thought of going out on the town with this man, wearing those felonious pants hidden beneath that wretched coat.

Or better yet, since that coat is such a tremendous mood killer, maybe he can just convince Kurt to let him peel him out of those pants – one safety pin at a time.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up," Sebastian says, surfacing from behind the coat that is trying to suffocate him to catch up with Kurt as he storms away. "You didn't show me the rest of the outfit."

"Why does it matter now?" Kurt asks, dropping down on his back on the bed. "We're not going anywhere."

"Now, now, maybe that's a good thing," Sebastian says, climbing on the bed and crawling on top of Kurt's lower half, trapping Kurt's thigh beneath his hand, "because I seriously need to investigate these pants a little more closely."


End file.
